


Magnificat

by realmythology



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bisexuality, Blasphemy, F/M, M/M, Married Life, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Infidelity, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Postpartum Depression, Religious Conflict, Self-Reflection, Wholesome Joseph, in which no one is blameless, it takes two people to ruin a marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmythology/pseuds/realmythology
Summary: The Song of Mary.In which Mary drinks and reflects on her life and choices, Joseph keeps his game face on until it cracks, Robert works out his bitterness in unhealthy ways, George can't even stand to look their way, and it's only a matter of time before everything falls apart.





	Magnificat

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i'm writing fanfiction for a goddamn dating simulator mostly played by teenagers when i should be finishing up the sequel i started over a month ago, but here we are. i really didn't like the way that the game developers dealt with joseph's storyline (i didn't pay $15 to be preached about not homewrecking an obviously miserable marriage or to be fed some bullshit twist-ending that totally clashes with the realism and mood of rest of the game) so here's a slapdash, unbeta'd attempt to make some sense of that tangled-up mess. 
> 
> **IMPORTANT:** despite how bitter i sound, no one is vilified here. marriage is a two-way street; here, joseph is not satan but he's not a great husband, and mary isn't blameless in her alcoholism and neglect of their children. since we're following joseph's route in this storyline, robert never really got the chance to change and become a better person, and he takes his lingering feelings for joseph out in a not-great way. no one has bad intentions, but no one does right anyway.
> 
>  **this takes place after joseph's "good" ending,** where he insists he can't be with your dadsona anymore and has to work on his marriage. 
> 
> i tried to keep the dadsona accurate to the game, but physically indistinct enough that you can imagine a vaguely-attractive dark-haired blob in his place if you want lol. he looks kinda like wes bentley in my head (you gotta be hot to get so many hot guys on your dick), but you can go with whatever you want!

—✣—

Mary hasn’t been a particularly happy person for a long time.

She reflects on that Sunday morning, a quiet pounding in her head and Joseph’s hand warm and dry in hers. Their family’s tucked into their regular spots in the front pew, closest to the music and closest to the word of God, but she’s not listening as the choir sings. She’s heard each and every song a thousand times over; not a single one’s touched her in years.

She remembers back to when she was young, and it seems like decades ago. She and Joseph are probably one of the younger couples in their cul-de-sac, hell, maybe in their whole neighborhood, but she feels ancient on mornings like this that make her think of when she’d actually cared about the church and the word of God. She’d liked this sort of thing back in those days.

Fuck, she could do with a glass of wine.

She’d been different back then. She’d worn bright sundresses and curled her hair, always accessorized with comfortable little cardigans and fruity perfumes and pink lipstick. She’d looked like she belonged next to Joseph, she thinks. Sometimes she can’t recognize herself when she looks in the mirror these days, all those dark colors and the bruise-dark bags under her eyes. Joseph still calls her beautiful, but only when other people are around.

He’s so goddamn fake. Had he always been so goddamn fake? Mary tightens her hand in his without realizing it and sees him shoot her a look out of the corner of his eye.

No. No, he hadn’t been.

Things had been different back when they’d met. Maple Bay circa 2004, a different time and age. Twilight had been falling along the marina and he’d been sitting on a boat with a few other guys, drinking from flasks and chatting. He’d been so damn _handsome_ under the glow of the streetlamps and she’d been a silly co-ed barely into adulthood, emboldened by the drinks she and her girlfriends had snuck back in their dorm room. She’d never forget the way he looked at her when she had greeted him with a coy smile and a, “hey, sailor.” She thought she’d heard the phrase once in a movie or something, figured it’d be the right thing to say. It’d worked.

Joseph had been so _sweet_ back then. He’d asked her about her studies and listened to all her thoughts on theology, had gently cut her off whenever her friends were getting too rowdy with the flavored vodka. He’d taken her up to his boat and showed her how to tie knots, kissing the back of her neck when she got them perfect. He’d taken her virginity in that boat, rocking into her as smooth as the ocean waves with calloused hands on her thighs and his hot mouth on the hinge of her jaw. He’d called her beautiful then too. He’d meant it.

Of course, he’d married her right after. He’d stayed in Maple Bay and gotten a job at the docks so that he could be close to her, and she’d been so, so mortified to tell him that she was pregnant. But she couldn’t tell her parents, and it had felt like the end of the world. She’d started crying—or maybe she’d just felt like it. She can’t remember anymore. But she does remember the way that Joseph had shushed her and kissed her cheeks and told her that it was a sign. That her love had brought him back to the Lord and that if them having a family was in God’s plan, he’d gladly follow along. He’d said that she’d never have to do it alone.

Well, he’d always kept that promise, at least. Joe was good with the kids, better than Mary had ever been. Her eyes slide to the side, to where Christian and Christie are tucked together against their father’s side while Chris leans back against the pews on their other side. Crish sits happily on Joseph’s lap, watching the choir as he hugs his stuffed whale. They all look so much like their father.

Mary feels her stomach turn and closes her eyes, resisting the urge to rest her head against Joseph’s shoulder. She wants somewhere to put her head, but she sure as hell doesn’t want to touch him any more than she already is. She needs a fucking nap. It’s probably her fault for drinking last night when she’d told herself she wouldn’t. Hell, she’d turned down Robert’s invitation to go out, but all that’d accomplished was her drinking her wine on the couch instead of at Jim and Kim’s. Cheaper wine, worse wine-headache.

But Joe hadn’t complained when she’d crawled into bed or when she’d shuffled down the stairs that morning, because they were “working on their relationship” or something. If nothing else, it’s nice that he’s doing his best not to be sanctimonious. Not that anyone would ever call him out on it, because he’s the _nice_ one. Mary’s just the mean drunk lady poor, sweet minister Christiansen is married to.

... Damn it. She’d told herself she was going to be less bitter.

“Mary?”

She snaps to attention, turning her eyes to Joseph. He lets go of her hand and she notices that people are starting to get up, talking with each other and heading towards the doors. Damn. How long had she been out? “Breakfast time, right?” she asks, injecting false cheer into her voice and flashing a smile at the kids. Crish giggles and reaches for Mary, and she feels disproportionately smug as she plucks him out of Joseph’s arms and stands up. Cooing at her two-year-old makes it fantastically easy to ignore Joseph’s “I-and-the-Lord-are-both-judging-you” face. She gets that one a lot.

“We were going to make blueberry pancakes. Right, honey?” Joseph asks Christie as he stands, each twin taking one of his hands.

“Right!” Christie cheers, too excited at the prospect to remember that she and Christian were planning on freaking out the innocent church-goers that morning as per usual. Poor suckers. Half of them probably think that her kids really _are_ possessed by demons or some dumb shit. It doesn’t help that their impressions got seriously better—

Never mind. Not being bitter. Yeah.

“... And you can lay down if you need to while we cook,” Joseph’s finishing, and Mary grimaces when she catches the tail-end of a one-sided conversation with her.

“I think I can handle pancakes, _sweetie_.”

“I’m sure you can,” he replies without missing a beat, voice all low and soothing in a way she’d loved years ago. Before he started using it on her expressly when she was being _difficult_.

“Then we’ll all have a great time making pancakes,” Mary snaps, cuddling Crish closer to her chest. His little hand closes around her necklace as they stop to talk to Hugo—schedules for the next school year came out the other week and he’s going to be Chris’s seventh-grade English teacher.

Damn, he’s starting seventh grade.

He’s going to be a _teenager_ next year.

Time really fucking flies when you’re having fun.

—✣—

“You’re being an asshole,” Mary tells Robert on Wednesday. They’re at Jim and Kim’s nursing a pair of beers. Robert had said he wanted to go easy that night and Mary had proceeded to mock him about it for a full five minutes because he cared so much about his _date_. It’s a testament to their friendship that the guy had just grunted and blocked her out for most of it.

They’re such a damn mess, the two of them.

She’d promised Joseph a couple months back that she’d do better, that she’d drink less. She’s pretty sure that neither of them had actually thought that their deal would work, but it had made sense in theory. She drank less, tried to be around more. Joseph would stop being so damn fake and would _absolutely stop fucking around with random guys_.

Mary’s actually a little pissed at herself that she had been the one to break, but it’s too late to complain now. Shockingly, pretending to be happy hadn’t actually succeeded in making them happy after a good five years of their marriage collapsing on itself like rotting fruit.

And it’s in no small part because she knows Joseph’s been feeling really rough since their reconciliation. It’s gotten worse lately, because his new ex-boy-toy decided to take up with Robert.

“Why’m I being an asshole this time?” he asks, not seeming particularly interested in the answer.

“You and the new guy,” Mary replies, fiddling with a peanut.

“What, you’re pissed because we’re meeting up later?”

“ _No_ , jackass,” she scoffs. “You’re rubbing it in Joseph’s face.”

“... I’m not faking this to get back at your _hubby_ ,” Robert replies lowly, a grimace twisting his face. Mary doesn’t doubt it. Robert doesn’t date, after all. He doesn’t go after people on a whim, and he definitely doesn’t use them like chess pieces. He’s not that kind of guy and if he was then they definitely wouldn’t be friends.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not still licking his wounds from the whole... _Thing_ that’d happened with Joe. Back when things had started falling apart.

( _Back when she’d been depressed after the twins had been born and she’d been no good at being a mother and Joseph had been stretched so thin and she’d started drinking and drinking and drinking and she couldn’t bear to touch him and he’d always craved affection and that man had been so bad at ignoring things that were no good for him—_ )

“I’m not saying you are.” Mary looks away and sips on her beer, trying to make it last. “But you’re doing it anyway. So stop.”

“It’s sweet you care how he feels.” Robert finishes off his drink, setting it down on the bar in a measured movement. “Cause he’s always been so good to you.” He slaps a twenty on the bar and slides off his stool, picking his jacket up. “My guy’s here. Take it easy, Mary.”

“You too.”

Mary watches with a twist on her lips as Robert heads over to the doorway where George hesitates. He seems to do that whenever he sees her these days, like he thinks she’s gonna jump across the distance and sink her teeth into his neck. As if he’s worth the effort. She knows even before Robert wraps a proprietary arm around the guy’s shoulders that her demand fell on deaf ears and that things are just going to keep going how they’ve been going. 

“Another round?” Neil asks, and Mary nods silently. She’s not really in the mood for theatrics tonight.

Because she knows Rob doesn’t _mean_ to do it, but he’s definitely been flaunting their relationship in Joseph’s face. He’d liked George, weirdly enough, and he barely ever liked anyone. To see the guy he was maybe-kind-of-really interested in falling for Joseph of all people couldn’t have been easy for him, not that Mary had been too concerned about that when she was already dealing with her own shit.

The two of them had stood aside while they watched George fall for Joseph; she’d been resigned and bitter, and Rob had been pissed _off_ and bitter. He’d loved Joseph once upon a time. He’d admitted it to her after one shot too many years back, that he’d loved Joseph and his blond hair and his picture-perfect smile, that he’d thought her husband might be able to save him from himself.

The feeling hadn’t been mutual, and all the confrontations involved had been ugly.

Mary had understood. Joseph Christiansen was amazing at making people feel like they were the center of his world.

—✣—

George doesn’t show up to their family’s barbecues anymore. He never went to church, but he used to help out with charity events when he and Joseph were friends-but-also-flirting. He even went with his daughter to Easter back in the spring after Joe had wheedled him into it.

It makes Joseph frown when he looks out at the assembled faces, but he ducks his eyes and never says anything.

Ever since what had happened at Amanda’s going-away party, George has done his absolute best to avoid them. Mary’s not all that surprised; the guy never struck her as particularly brave, and she’s also pretty sure he’s never going to understand their situation. She’d seen the pictures filling up his shelves and walls. There had been so damn many of him and the pretty dark-skinned woman that looked just like his daughter. Both of them, overwhelmingly in love to the end.

She shouldn’t be jealous of a dead woman’s marriage, but here she is. What a life.

George probably thinks the whole breakup was about him, when it’s actually about Joe being a huge fucking coward. He’s always been one. (She wonders sometimes if he married her because it was the right thing to do, not the thing he’d wanted.) They’ve talked about divorce before—of course they have, they can barely stand each other. But with the kids and the community and the church, those talks always seem to fall apart. Joseph would always suddenly, miraculously remember how much he loved her after the conversation got too real, and she'd be too tired and heartsick by that point to push him away. Rinse, repeat.

She'd almost thought that time would be different. Joseph had come home the night after his fabulous sexcapade looking well-fucked and determined, and he’d told her point-blank that he wanted a divorce. Mary stares down at her wine, remembering the scene.

He’d looked _good_.

She’d really thought that he would stick by it that time. He’d been glowing in low light, expression steely, and she’d been _angry_ because she’d put the kids to bed minutes ago but she was already drunk and all her emotions had been twisted up to hell. She’d thought it was the right thing to kick him out of the house just days ago because she knew where it was going between him and George. She’d expected it.

But when it actually happened—

He’d _promised_ that he’d never do it again. She’d made him promise her after Robert, had wrapped her legs around his waist when he was inside her and forced him to look at her, had made him gasp her name and come while she rolled her hips slow and dirty. She’d endured his spinelessness and his disinterest, his fake smiles and his lack of support when she’d needed him most. She’d even stomached his infidelity. And this was what she got for it? And he thought that he’d just met his damn soulmate after ignoring her on and off for the past seven years? He was going to tear their family apart because he had a _crush_ on some guy he’d just met? He was going to drop her for George fucking Anderson?

Good Lord, drinking made her mean. It turned her thoughts to venom and her tongue to silver.

... But he’d fucked George on the _yacht_. He’d never fucked anyone else on the yacht.

Unsurprisingly, all it had taken had been a jibe at that to make her husband falter.

And she hadn’t thought it through, because maybe the separation would have been better for everyone, but she’d been drunk and so, so lonely for years, and she’d suffered so much for their marriage, for the demons in her mind and in her heart that refused to be exorcised no matter how hard she tried to fix herself up.

But she’d started crying, and Joseph had never been able to watch her cry—and they still loved each other even if they hadn’t been in love in years, they still had their marriage—

And the rest was history.

So George Anderson stopped coming to any events hosted by them. They always heard from Craig or Damien or Hugo that he really was too busy with work these days to go out. The one time he’d come to a barbecue had been after he and Robert had started up together after a long night talking in a corner of Jim and Kim’s. That’d been suspicious, but she hadn’t said anything about it. And everyone had seemed happy enough besides. Lucky them, not knowing about all the bullshit that had gone down with Joseph and Robert and George. She’d been jealous of how relaxed everyone had looked all day.

Robert had kept an arm slung around the guy’s hips and had kissed his neck when the kids hadn’t been looking. All within view of the grill, of course. Joseph had actually burned a couple of the burgers. Things had been awkward whenever they were within ten feet of each other, and at one point she’s pretty sure George had tried to sneak out and disappear into his own yard.

So, really, the barbecue had been a disaster that only the four of them had recognized.

Maybe she was wrong. Joe really did have a type—people who got fucked up to hell about him.

—✣—

“Stop that,” Mary mutters, and Joseph immediately stills behind her. All it had taken had been one kiss to the back of her neck, one searching hand running along her hip to make her bristle up.

“Sorry.”

“Mm.”

It had been different, after Robert. She’d been angry at first, heartbroken, really, but she’d gotten over it. And then she’d done everything she could to wipe all thoughts of the other man from her husband’s mind, riding him late at night with his mouth pressed to her neck or tempting him to fuck her over the kitchen counter while the kids were all off at school. They’d started working again, kind of, for a short while. It hadn’t been as easy or good as it had been back when they were still newlyweds, but it had worked.

And then eventually it hadn’t. She thinks that the last time they had sex was probably when she was pregnant with Crish, Joseph’s hand gentle on her stomach and lips glancing off her shoulder.

It’s been years since they’ve been intimate, and she still can’t stand the thought of him touching her like that. She’ll deal with his arm around her waist when he’s trying extra-hard to be considerate and sweet, but anything more...

She hears a quiet shuffle behind herself as Joseph pulls away, then a sigh. There’s a long moment of silence before he speaks again.

“I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know you are,” Mary mutters.

“I’m... I’m trying to make this easy, Mary. Really.”

“Would it be easier if I let you fuck me?” she replies sharply, and feels bad the moment the words leave her mouth.

“ _Mary_ ,” he whisper-hisses, and her shoulders tense.

“... Too far. I know.”

“You’re damn right,” he mutters, shifting farther away. Even the mild swear feels wrong coming from him. Righteous dick. Mary chews her bottom lip for a long moment, feeling restless. Finally, she turns around so that she’s facing in his direction. The inches between them in the bed feel like a yawning chasm that she just can’t cross, even though she could just reach out and touch him.

“We’re not doing too great, are we?” she whispers, the words suspended in the air between them.

“We...” He pauses for a long moment. Mary tries to make out his expression in the dark. “We aren’t, no,” he admits. “But we’ll do better. I know we can.”

“Do you pray for us?” Mary asks, a little wistful. She sees Joseph turn his head to face her in the darkness.

“You know I do, Mary,” he replies, verging on offended. “I ask God every day to help us through this rough patch. You know how much our marriage means to me.”

“Do I?” Mary sighs, more to herself than to Joseph. She can feel him tense and she closes her eyes, shaking her head a little. “It’s late.”

“Yes,” Joseph replies haltingly, quiet.

Well. That’s that. Mary hides a grimace and turns back around again, too hot between the sheets. Uncomfortable. It’d probably have been easier to sleep if she’d had some more to drink, but she’d stuck to two glasses of wine with dinner. She was _trying_ , damn it.

“Do you still love me?” Her husband’s voice is still quiet, barely a whisper in the stillness of their room.

Mary doesn’t answer for a long time. She keeps her eyes open and gazes into the middle distance, off into where the shadows creep into the corners of the room. Joseph’s breaths are beginning to slow and deepen when she finally whispers a reply she’s not even sure he’ll hear.

“Yeah, sailor. I just don’t like you much anymore.”

—✣—

“Did you love him?”

Mary asks the question out of the blue a week later, and Joseph almost drops the tray of brownies he’d been pulling out of the oven. Too bad. He’d been making too many box-mixes the past few months, it was honestly a waste of eggs.

“ _Excuse_ me?” her husband asks, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Mary purses her lips and raises a brow.

“Anderson. Do you love him. It’s a yes-or-no question, Joe.”

Heh. Rhyming.

Joseph looks less than amused, setting the brownies down and pulling off his oven mitts. “You know I love you, Mary,” he deflects, and she almost walks out of the room right then.

“Lord give me the strength to deal with you.” Joseph gives her a very unimpressed look. “It was a _joke,_ nerd. Lighten up.” She rolls her eyes and leans her cheek on her palm, prodding at the leftovers of her lunch. “So. Do you?”

“...” Joe sighs and runs a hand through his hair, some of his boundless energy sapping away for a moment. “I thought I did.” He shakes his head. “I was wrong. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“And when did you decide that part?”

“After I came home and saw you again,” Joseph answers, and it sounds just a tad too mechanical to be real. Like he’d rehearsed it, which she wouldn’t put past him. “I knew pursuing it any further would be a mistake.”

“For you or your flock?” Mary parries, spitting the word out. She ignores the affronted look she gets. “We both know this isn’t working.”

“We’re _fine_ ,” Joseph insists with a little more force than necessary, turning away from her to head to the sink.

“We’re really not.”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response.

“Do you think he loves Robert?”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response.

... But his shoulders tense. Then they tremble. Mary ducks her eyes. They don’t say another word.

—✣—

Neither George nor Robert show up for their family’s annual Christmas Eve party, but Mary's in a cheery enough mood that night not to care much. It'd actually been a good night. She likes Christmas. The kids are happy and everything's lit up and sparkling, and it's the one time of year when everyone really does try to act a little bit kinder and more conscientious of themselves (herself included). She'd had a great time that night even with Rob gone, chatting with Damien and singing along with her kids when they all started doing holiday karaoke.

And the best part of being friends with a bunch of other boring parents is that they clean their shit up, so all Mary has to throw away as she goes through the kitchen is a couple red solo cups. It's when she's moving the cheese plate (which had been stupidly expensive but Joseph had been insistent on getting perfect) that she sees the card.

Mary picks it up, confused. She'd gotten the mail yesterday and hadn't seen this. It’s one of a million scenic Christmas landscapes, and on the inside of it, under the generic greeting, is Robert’s customary scrawl.

_‘Going upstate for the holiday. Sorry._

_—R, G & A’ _

Ouch. She wonders if George knows about the card, even though it’s clearly one of his. If she were a betting gal, she’d say he doesn’t. He probably has dozens squirreled away for yearly greetings and won’t notice one going missing.

And here she thought she'd scored _one_ night without this telenovela romance bullshit.

Joseph’s the one drinking that night, straight scotch instead of their leftover eggnog. Mary puts the kids to bed and feels like shit when the twins complain and complain about Dad not being the one to tuck them in. She doesn’t know what to do with herself afterwards and their bedroom is dark and foreboding, so she goes downstairs and sits down next to him.

They share the bottle. Mary can’t even really find it in herself to snark at Joe, not when he’s looking at the fireplace like it contains all of life’s secrets. She wonders how he'd reacted when he found the card. She wonders if Robert or Amanda had snuck it into their mail slot that morning. She wonders when the last time he got so bent out of shape over her instead of George-goddamn-Anderson was.

She startles when he breaks the silence.

“He doesn’t love Robert.” The non-sequitur is quiet, but Mary hears it over the crackle of the fire. She wants to mock him, to reply with something sassy, but...

“How do you know?”

“He doesn’t look happy.”

“Joe...” Mary sighs, feeling awfully tired all of a sudden. “Just because someone looks happy doesn’t mean they are. You know that better than anyone.”

“He can’t act,” her husband replies without flinching. "He can't even tell a white lie without getting flustered. He never smiles anymore, not really. And I don't think Robert even realizes." His hand clenches and loosens around the neck of their bottle. Mary reaches for it, prying it out of his hand. He has that bloodshot look to his eyes that she’s seen reflected in the mirror a thousand times over.

He looks like _her_ , she realizes with a lurch.

Maybe that’s the look of someone who can just egg it on as the man they love keeps slipping farther and farther away from them.

“He does wear his heart on his sleeve,” Mary acknowledges, holding the bottle in her lap. She hesitates, then knocks their elbows together. It’s awkward, but it’s an attempt. “Kid looked ready to shit his pants when he ran into me at the bar back when you two were...” Flirting? “... talking.”

“He’s older than you, honey.” But there’s a little smile there.

“Older than you too,” Mary says, taking a swig from the bottle. It burns nice and warm going down, and she sighs in pleasure. “How old’s he? 40?”

“I... don’t know.” And the smile’s gone. Mary side-eyes him.

“You’re in love with the guy but you don’t know his _age_?”

“I...” Joseph trails off, looking a little like a kicked puppy. Mary’s seen that look way too many times to feel all that guilty. She waits for him to deny it, but all he replies is, “I suppose I am.”

“Shit.” She raises her brows. “What else don’t you know about him?”

“... Most things.”

“Nice. That’s when the feelings are strongest.” He scoffs in response to her joke and Mary smirks, not unkindly. “You know it’s true.”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Heh.”

They’re quiet for a long while, passing the bottle between the two of them. It burns the bad feelings right away, and Mary doesn’t know if it’s the scotch or the Christmas spirit or how much she likes seeing Joseph looking as fucked up as she’s felt for the past eight years, but she can’t remember the last time she felt this close to her husband.

She's not sure how long passes before they share another word. Minutes or hours, maybe; time gets syrupy-sweet after a while, just the way she likes.

“God, Joe,” Mary mumbles, her tongue feeling clumsy after the bottle’s half-empty. It's definitely the good stuff, the right thing to drink through a heartbreak, and Joe’s too far gone to say anything about her taking the Lord’s name in vain. She’d stopped wearing her cross weeks and weeks ago, anyway. “You’ve fucked me up so bad.”

“I know, honey,” he replies, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek, unsteady but careful. Mary doesn’t pull away. It's nice, makes her eyes flutter shut. Her skin has that drunk numb-but-oversensitive feeling and she wants more contact, a couple more threads tethering her to reality. She leans into Joseph's soft lips on her skin, letting the touch linger before dropping her head to his shoulder and closing her eyes. Joseph’s so _warm_. No one’s touched her like that since... She can’t even remember. She’s forgetting everything tonight.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like a person.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry.”

She curls closer to him.

—✣—

Robert and George break up after Christmas, according to Damien. Mary’s never been less surprised in her life.

She pours herself a big, big glass of wine.

Then she waits.

—✣—

 _For the mighty God has done great things for me,_  
_And his mercy will reach from age to age_  
_And holy, holy, holy is his name._


End file.
